


Runs in the Family

by Ketakoshka



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Family Reunions, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wakes & Funerals, and he thinks of himself as human-ish, but he eats people, monster!flug, sort of cannibalism because a lot of people believe him to be human in the story, that's the main thing here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketakoshka/pseuds/Ketakoshka
Summary: "I can run using every last ounce of energy... I cannot run from my family. They're hiding inside of me... Come in if you like, but just don't tell my family, they'd never forgive me. They'd say that I'm crazy..." Black Hat's always known his doctor was a monster; it's just everyone else who believes him to be human.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have some explaining to do.  
> I’ve been gone for quite some time for an amalgamation of reasons. One, less than a month ago I finished my second year of college, and that semester ate up all of my free time. Two, we still are not done with our house, and that takes up what time that school didn’t then and work doesn’t now. Three, work hates me. Four, I was working on a commission that I honestly didn’t have the time to work on until I got out of that hellish semester.  
> Since today is my birthday, I would be posting a butt ton of things, but they’re for the most part incomplete, but I should have them finished by tomorrow night.

“What are you, sweet creature?” Flug swallows thickly, staring up at the creature in front of him with a mixture of awe and fear; he’s felt that feeling before… every time he looks in the mirror. “Certainly not a human… Only a monster could create such carnage with his bare hands.”

Unable and unwilling to admit to such a thing, Flug casts his gaze aside where his eyes land upon the ravaged corpse of one of the local superheroes, Captain Colossus. The titan of a man had been tougher to take down than Flug expected, but when compared to his own monstrous strength, a human ribcage is made from toothpicks. Between the mess of organs spewing from his chest and abdomen and the crushed bones in his face, Colossus looks remarkably ordinary, and Flug is instantly reminded that it had been the humans that caused their own demise. Normally, he wouldn’t feel so calm when looking at something like this, but… “They deserved it.”

Movement from the gray-skinned man in front of him draws Flug’s attention back; his head moves too fast for a human eye to catch, but the creature’s grin only grows wider. “And what did they do to deserve this…” One of his hands sweeps out to the side and gestures to another mangled hero and the head of the villain Ice Caster. “This kind of mutilation… Not that I’m complaining about the sight.”

When Flug refuses to reply, the man quirks an eyebrow and squats before the young genius and the broken body behind him. Understanding dawns in his visible eye when he sees the way Flug shifts to protect the dead woman, and with deliberate slowness, he reaches up to run a finger over the long jagged cuts that mar Flug’s face. “They killed her, didn’t they?” Not knowing how else to respond, Flug nods once, causing ginger curls to fall in front of his amber eyes.

The smile upon the man’s face doesn’t disappear but it does diminish slightly, the hand that had come to rest on Flug’s neck moves away. “Who was she to you? A lover?” Raw disgust fills Flug at that idea, the emotion so potent that the gray creature can taste its sour notes. “A friend?” The disgust lessens somewhat, but no new emotions flare up. “Family?” Through the curtain of reddish-orange, he sees Flug flinch, and he can taste the guilt that wells through the young monster’s very pores. “Was she your sister?” Flug nods slightly, and the man hums in acknowledgement.

He stands up then and fixes the black top hat that had started falling forwards. He dusts off his immaculate black suit jacket and straightens his tie, and as he tightens the wayward knot, he looks down at Flug and asks, “what’s your name?”

“Dr. Flug Slys.” Flug makes no move to get off the ground, and his right hand tightens around his sister’s limp wrist. “Who are you?”

Once again, the creature’s toothy grin grows wider, and the docility that his face had taken on falls away. “People call me Black Hat… Now doctor, what is it that you’ve studied?”

Flug finally looks up at him, a hint of confusion darkening his eyes, and on shaky legs, he stands and finds himself coming to the tall creature’s shoulder. “Chemistry, Engineering and Physics mostly.”

Black Hat makes a noise of surprise and delight before he reaches into his jacket and procures a pitch-black card with a single line of stark-white writing. “I’m in need of a doctor…” He offers the card to Flug who feels queasy when he looks down at the thing; it seems to draw up the light around it, and he’s half afraid that if he takes it, he’ll be sucked into the darkness like a black hole. But, it would be rude not to… “I need someone who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” Suddenly, the smell of copper overwhelms the young man’s senses, and the places where body fluids touch his skin seem to itch. “I need someone who’s willing to help others do the same as you have today…”

Flug takes the card and quickly pockets it, not wanting to look at the paper any longer than he must. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Black Hat smiles wider still, and Flug can see tiny rivulets of black blood slip down his face; his smile has grown so wide that it’s ripped his skin apart. Its scent tickles Flug’s nose, promising sweetness and bitterness and richness that would make his heart sing, but Flug is more than capable of denying his body the things that it craves. His mouth may salivate and his stomach may growl, but he refuses to give in to the odd urge to lick along the torn skin; he has some dignity after all.  
“I have a feeling that you’ll say yes.”

There’s a harsh comment in the doctor’s throat, but before he can utter it, Black Hat vanishes into thin air, leaving Flug alone in the alley with the bodies of three heroes, a villain, three minions and his sister. As he looks around for the other monster, he finally takes in the carnage fully, and his stomach drops while sirens scream in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

Lillian and Richard Slys wake up at precisely six in the morning as they have done every day for the eleven years that they’ve been married, and after a languid kiss and fifteen minutes of snuggling into one another, Lillian hops in the shower and Richard makes the bed. At six-thirty, they venture downstairs, both dressed comfortably for their planned day indoors, and head into the kitchen to make breakfast before they wake up their five children.

However, on this particular day, their oldest daughter, Kayla is already awake and sitting at the table with an old bottle clutched in her hand and bundle held tightly in her other arm. She’s humming, something soft, a lullaby that Lillian had sang to her and all of her siblings when they were infants.

“Kayla?” Lillian calls out softly, not wanting to frighten her daughter. “What do you have there?”

Still, Kayla jolts up and turns sharply, and her parents can see the little face in the bundle. “He was on our porch, mommy.”

Taken aback by the sight of a baby in their daughter’s arms, Lillian and Richard turn to look at one another, and after a few moments of silent communication, Richard takes a step back and allows his wife to take control of the situation; she’s always had a more level head. “Kayla,” Lillian starts and slowly moves to take a seat next to her, not wanting to startle the infant, “why didn’t you come and get us?”

Kayla hums then, as if to say that she doesn’t know why, but if she had spoken those words, she would have lied. The reason why she didn’t come to get them is both simple and complicated; she knew that Flug had to be taken care of, and she needed time to convince them… She knows that the latter part should be easy; her parents are good and caring people, but… Her right middle finger rubs over the bandage on her index finger, catching and tugging on the thicker part.

Knowing that she won’t get a better answer out of her daughter, Lillian decides to drop that topic and asks, “was there anything out on the porch with him?”

Kayla opens her mouth to answer, but when the baby opens his eyes, she finds her voice almost caught in the wave of affection that surges inside of her. “There was a note too,” she whispers, her nose crinkling slightly as her smile broadens. “I readed part of it, but I didn’t…” She trails off, her smile diminishing in the wake of the illusive word.

“Understand?” Lillian supplies.

“Yeah!” she exclaims and immediately looks guilty, having noticed how the child’s eyes had widened with shock. “Sorry, Flug.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, careful not to catch the tiny wisps of reddish-orange hair that curl and stick to his skin. “I didn’t understand all of it, but… his name is Flug.”

The odd name garners a raised eyebrow from Lillian, but she doesn’t comment on it. No, there are more pressing matters to attend to than the supposed name of the baby.

“Where’s the note at?” she asks, and a small part of her hopes that Kayla hasn’t thrown it away; she really doesn’t want to dig through the trash this early in the morning.

“On the counter, next to the fridge.”

Before Lillian can get up, Richard snatches the note off the counter and hands it to his wife; she feels her chair move when he leans over it a moment later, but she barely pays attention to it. No, she’s far more interested in the slick paper clutched in her hand.

The ink is smudged in places but still readable, if she stares at it long enough, she can make out the shadow of the corner store’s policy printed on the back; it’s written on a blank slip of receipt tape. The faint smell of lavender reaches her nose a second before she can bring herself to start reading. ‘But lavender isn’t in season yet…’ With a moment to ponder that oddity, she forces herself to focus again.

_Dear whomever receives this letter,_

_I know it must seem odd to find an infant on your doorstep, but I fear that have no choice. If I could take him with me, I would have, but I fear that he would not survive._

_Please find it in your heart to care for him. If you cannot, then I ask of you to take him to a family that can. Either way, thank you. This is a debt that I can never repay..._

_His name is Flug, and he is the only family I have left._

_And to my baby boy, I'm so sorry that I had to leave you. I love you. I will always love you. Be strong, and be safe. And I hope that one day you'll forgive me._

_Love, mommy._

Lillian looks up from the note with a dumbfounded expression and turns her head sharply to catch her husband’s eye. “What should we do?” she asks, but she already knows; they have five kids already… what’s one more?

“I guess we adopt him.”

And two days later, temporary custody with paperwork for full adoption was granted to Lillian and Richard for Flug Slys.

They promised that if anyone ever came to get him that they’d hand him over in a heartbeat, but no one ever did…


	3. Chapter 3

 

Lacing his fingers together and laying them on the table, he knows that he looks like someone about to strike a deal, but Flug can't bring himself to sit in any other position; he won't let himself hide his face and twist his hands nervously in his lap. He won't let their ideas persist.

But the tapping of the second detective's pencil is irritating the hell out of him, and if he doesn't watch his temper, he might do something that he'll regret.

"I didn't kill my sister," he asserts, his voice surprisingly steady and sure despite the adrenaline crash that's wracking his thin frame. "No matter how long you keep me here, that won't change the fact that she was killed by Ice Caster."

"Yes, you've told us that," the first detective drawls, and Flug is struck with the desire to rip the graying man's face off. "But we're having a little trouble with how Ice Caster and Captain Colossus are dead, but you're still alive."

Flug forces himself to look down and to the right as if he were recalling the memory instead of constructing the right amount of truth and lie to convince the police of an altered retelling of the afternoon's events. "There was this creature..." A part of him feels bad for blaming it on Black Hat, but he's sure that a creature that found dead bodies beautiful wouldn't care about the deaths being attributed to him. "It just walked into the alley, and the next thing I know, it starts ripping the heroes and villains apart."

"And what did it look like," the second asks as she scribbles away at her notepad.

'Like the man sitting in front of you.' Flug sighs. "It was a really tall humanoid with dark gray or black skin, and it was dressed up kind of like a stereotypical Victorian Englishman. It even had a top hat."

"Black Hat," the second detective curses, and after dropping her pencil to the desk, she gives Flug a pitying look. "You're very lucky to be alive..." The older man nods in agreement. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Slys-"

"Doctor," he cuts in.

"Sorry, Dr. Slys. You're free to go..." The door swings open, and Flug quickly stands up, intending to leave before they come to their senses.

"Please be careful... If you see Black Hat again, please don't antagonize him."

He glances over his shoulder, eyes flashing golden, not that the detective can tell though his bangs. "I'll keep that in mind..."

 

Considering his bloodied clothes and obvious exhaustion, Flug isn't surprised when he's offered a ride home, and he gratefully accepts, knowing that he'd likely have the cops called on him if he tried to walk home. When they pull up to his apartment, he slips out of the car with a whispered thanks to his driver and walks up the steps, purposely ignoring those the people on the sidewalk. He unlocks the front door and slips inside, locking it again behind him before walking up the second flight of stairs.

He counts himself lucky that his elderly, floor neighbor isn't outside; he doesn't want her to stare at him too... He doesn't want to explain to her that Kayla's gone...

He opens his apartment door and slips inside, nearly slamming the door in his haste to hide from reality, but reality's followed him home.

On the table is a black vase of white carnations and hydrangeas, and a card, so dark that it soaks up the light around it... It reminds him of the business card in his pocket.

With a shaking hand, he reaches out and snatches up the card. It's inside is just as black as the out, with the exception of the white writing inside. The handwriting is so elegant and lovely that Flug's struck with appreciation before his brain catches up with what his eyes are reading.

'Sorry for your loss, dear doctor,' it reads. 'I know these next days will be hard for you, but I'm sure that you'll come out stronger in the end... And I will be waiting when you come to your senses.'

Once again, there's the phone number, and the compulsion to call it strikes him. He catches himself reaching for his cell phone, but a mere moment later, he drops both the card and phone.

"I don't have time for this bullshit," he growls and marches into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is about half-finished. I should have it up next weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

Flug knew that he was adopted from the moment that he could form a fully coherent thought.

There’s no way that he could have remained in the dark for long, even with willful ignorance. Everything, from his budding, genius level intelligence to his curly, reddish-orange hair, was out of place when compared to the other Slys’ black hair, brown eyes and average levels of intelligence. But none of those differences really bothered him. Hell, if he’d been less observant he would have likely remained in the dark, but those things were of little consequence.

No, the special difference was really more of an issue.

His adopted family is entirely human, and Flug… well, it’s a little hard to call yourself human when you drink human blood… And he’s certain that if the chance came, he would jump at the chance to devour human flesh.

He wasn’t sure what he is.

That didn’t stop Kayla from loving him wholeheartedly, and as proof of her love, she decided to him until he was old enough to hunt for himself. She decided to protect him for all time…

* * *

 

On Flug’s first day of school, he walks hand-in-hand with Kayla up the big stone stairs leading to the desolate brick building. His body quivers and his hands shake, but his face bears a wide smile. The closer they get to the door, the more he shakes, but that smile refuses to falter. Once they get into the entrance hall, she drops to her knee and kisses her brother on the forehead.

“It’s going to be a good day,” she whispers. “You’re going to have fun.”

He nods sharply, but the way he shakes betrays his nervousness. “I’m going to get kicked out of class.”

“No, you won’t,” she reassures and ruffles his hair. “You’re going to amaze everyone, and your teachers are going to love you.”

“I’m seven,” he mutters, his voice teeming with doubt and contempt. “You’re thirteen and we’re in the same grade.”

“And? You belong here… You’re so smart.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She laughs and stands back up, grabbing his hand once again. They walk down the hall to the office, and Kayla asks for her brother’s schedule before standing to the back and watching as the secretaries fawn over the ‘smart little man’. Flug looks utterly annoyed by the attention, but he doesn’t say anything; he’s gotten pretty good at bearing the affections of middle-aged women who think he’s too cute for his own good.

He’s eventually saved by the arrival of the principal who hands off his schedule to Kayla without a word. Flug knows that there’s been arguments, but he’s glad that they won’t affect his first real day of school; pre-K didn’t count, especially when he kept getting kicked out for doing experiments. He’s glad that the arguments haven’t followed him here; he just wants to be normal, well as normal as a genius monster can be.

Kayla ushers him out of the office, her nose buried firmly into the paper, and after a moment, she looks down at Flug with a wide smile. “We’re in the same classes!”

“Great,” he replies, condescension leaking into his voice. “Now we can get kicked out together.”

* * *

 

Despite Flug’s pessimism, he has a wonderful morning.

Kayla sits him up at the front of the classroom, partly so he can see and partly because he gets so excited about learning; she doesn’t want anything to distract him. Up there, he cannot see the older kids giving him weird looks, and if he focuses on the teacher, he can ignore the whispers of disbelief.

Their first class is algebra, and while Flug had already started studying trigonometry, he still finds himself elated at the review. The topic is pretty droll, but he can’t deny that the idea of proper schooling fills him with enough enthusiasm to make up for the material. He doesn’t learn anything new, but being asked questions and being allowed to answer them without ridicule is amazing. By the time class is over, his teacher is enamored with the little genius and cannot get enough of asking him to solve increasingly hard problems.

His second class progresses in much the same way: chemistry.

But all good things must come to an end, and for Flug that came at the start of health class.

Considering his obvious inhuman parentage, it would be completely understandable if he didn’t know much about the other species, but that would be removing his ravenous appetite for information. With this factored into the equation, the honest derision and confusion when his teacher begins droning on about reproductive health without a micron of factual information to be seen, is completely understandable.

Despite the coil of disgust that this misinformation brings out, it isn’t until the man starts talking about how a woman’s vagina and urethra were one and the same that he cannot keep his mouth shut anymore. “That’s not how the human body works,” he says, his small voice catching the teacher by surprise.

The older man turns around, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of the little boy with a defiant expression. “And how would you know how the human body works?”

“I’ve read every anatomy book in the library as well as quite a few medical textbooks,” he admits, “and they all say that you’re wrong.”

“I am your teacher,” the man growls, his voice dropping an entire octave in his anger. “You should respect that.”

“Why? I’m sure that I’m smarter than you!”

There’s a thump as Kayla’s head meets her desk.


	5. Chapter 5

Flug isn't surprised when his mother calls him a few hours later, the shrill shriek of the landline wrenching him from a restless nap. He sits up and rubs his eyes before fixing his sight on the cat-shaped abomination on the kitchen counter; with a bitter, yet wistful smile, he remembers how he and Kayla had fought about the phone when they bought it. Those memories play on repeat in the back of his mind, partially obscured by the haze of anger and sadness that warps his smile into a feral-looking grimace.

On the fourth ring, he grabs the phone and takes a breath as he brings it up to his ear. "Hi, mom," he whispers, his voice horse and tinged with exhaustion.

"Flug!" she cries, and he winces at the hysteria in her tone. "Thank goodness you're alright! I don't know if anyone's gotten ahold of you, but your sister-"

"Mom..." he interrupts, not wanting to delay this any longer. "I know about Kayla."

"Wh-what?" He can hear the way the woman's panic and sorrow wrenches at her heart, and a part of him wishes that he could tell her anything different... But he won't lie, not about this.

He runs a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that he couldn't break, no matter how much he was admonished for it. "I was with her... I saw her die, mom."

Her voice grows cold, drawing a shiver from the already shaken man. "And who did it?"

"Ice Caster," he admits, but that in itself is partially a lie; it had been Captain Colossus's fault too. "But he's dead now too."

"I see..." Her voice drops off again, and Flug can practically feel the way that she wants to press for more information. He won't give it though, unless she asks... He knows that she'll ask eventually; it's inevitable, but he just can't bring himself to say it now. "The coroner said he was going to release her body next Saturday." He's surprised by how quickly they're going to release her; it's less than a week. "I think we should have her funeral that next week."

Flug finds himself frowning at the detached sort of tone that his mother uses; she rarely talks like that; but he cannot deny that her idea is a good one. "Yeah," he whispers, "we probably should."

"I'm going to make an appointment at Smith and Carlison's." Flug remembers that place from when his Aunt Mary died; the director had been a tall man, one that seemed to be getting on in years, but age hadn't slowed him down, nor had it dampened his smile. But there was another man, Carlison that had a strange look in his eye when he saw the, then, eleven-year-old. He didn't say or do anything to warrant suspicion from the rest of the family, but to Kayla and Flug, he was undeniably creepy... "I think that you should come... You'd probably know what she'd want more than me."

"Yeah..." He leans over the counter and reaches for the rolled-up piece of paper in the penholder beside the receiver; it's a copy of Kayla's will. She'd made quite a few of them and scattered them around the house and in various safety deposit boxes, so that if something were to happen to her, he'd always be able to find one. "Just let me know when... I'll bring her will."

"Her will?"

"Yeah, she finally got around to updating it last month. It's pretty short, but she did say what she wanted done with her body." He unrolls it and frowns down at the paper; it's just seven sentences. "I'm sorry, mom..."

"For what?"

"For everything..." He sighs and drops the paper onto the granite, watching as it rolls up on itself. "I should have done something... Maybe I could have saved her."

"You'd probably be dead too."

"Maybe... but maybe not..." He highly doubts that they would have been able to kill him; Captain Colossus's strength meant nothing when Flug tore him apart, and Ice Caster's magic... it wasn't really effective. "I'll see you later... Love you..."

"I love you too."

Flug hangs up, and the sound echoes in the empty apartment.

 

* * *

 

His mother calls again later that night to inform him that their appointment is at three the next day.

So Flug wakes up after just after dawn, tired of tossing and turning, and he gets dressed in his second nicest clothes, rights the pictures that he had flipped over the night before, and slips out into the small hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kayla's door, still cracked open from the day before. He remembers how she'd always keep it open in case he had a nightmare and needed to come sleep with her; that hasn't happened in seven years...

Shaking his head to clear it, he turns away from the room and heads to his kitchen. There's a couple bottles of Kayla's blood in the fridge... he stares at them, but he cannot bring himself to drink any of them... He doesn't deserve them right now, and he knows that if he feeds now, he won't be able to stop himself from drinking until every ounce of her is gone...

Instead, he helps himself to the raw hamburger on the bottom shelf; it tastes bland when compared to Kayla's flavor, or really any human's, but that's to be expected when changing the creature that one feeds on. Cattle are like tofu, sustainable but lacking in flavor, and Flug, desiring little finery in his life, cannot deny that his palate requires a richer lifestyle. After he finishes eating, being careful not to get any blood on his shirt, he cleans up in the kitchen sink, scrubbing both his hands and face with a mixture of soap and hydrogen peroxide. Then he sits on the couch and stares out of the window; there's nothing that holds his attention, nothing that demands that he stop lamenting his loss and focus.

He knows that this isn't healthy... but he just can't bring himself to do anything...

He stares out of that window for longer than he would have thought it possible to watch his dismal street as cars pass and people wander to and fro, some gathering in large packs, their laughter seeming to permeate the bricks and glass. Flug finds himself enraptured in the intricate, nearly unnoticeable patterns that the patrons create, his mind latching onto these numbers, these tangible items... They spell out mathematical formulas and ratios that he can practically see in the air before him.

For example, when the light about four streets down turns green, just as it does two minutes after the start of every red light, he notices that between seven and eleven cars will pass by his window. At the same time, between two and six people on the street will pause and line up at the crosswalk, waiting for the cars to pass by, and when they can finally cross, between two and six people will take their place from the other side of the street, the side where his apartment sits; it's a busy morning.

His idle hands write down these numbers, not in pencil but with his fingertips, the information spelled out onto his arms and legs and couch cushions. He doesn't seem to notice the way that his hands move, his eyes remaining locked on the outside window.

That is until one of his nails catches on the fabric of the cushion and tears a hole in it.

It is only then that Flug looks at the clock and realizes with a start that it's nearly one, and so, with a sigh, he stands and grabs Kayla's will from the coffee table before shutting off the kitchen light and leaving his apartment.

As he steps out into the hallway, he notices his elderly neighbor letting out her cat and ducks his head, not wanting to meet her eyes. "Be careful out there deary," she calls when he walks past. "I hear there's a monster on the loose. It killed a couple of heroes yesterday."

"Yeah... I will," he replies, a hot flush starting to build as a wave of embarrassment-laced shame broils in his face. "You should be careful too."

"I will," she replies, and for once, she lets the conversation go; Flug has never felt more grateful.

 

* * *

 

When he finally steps out onto the street, he debates calling a taxi, simply because he doesn't want to walk past the alleyway where Kayla...

But considering that he'd decided to leave almost two hours early for his appointment, partly because he doesn't want to be late and partly because he feels that he cannot trust himself to pay attention to the time, it would make little sense to shell out the extra money when he could easily walk there in a half hour. With his extra time, he knows that he could take a shortcut through the graveyard and visit the grave marked only by a name... That's where his biological mother's buried.

Meredith Gavilier; that had been her name, and Smith and Carlison's had been the ones to bury her; so, she's buried in the smaller graveyard just a few blocks away from the funeral parlor. Kayla had been the one to find her, and it was only then that Flug finally knew his birth name, not that anything ever came of it. Meredith and Jesus Gavilier had died long before Flug ever started looking for them, and both had been murdered...

Just before he walks into the graveyard at a quarter to two, he sees his adoptive mother's car pull up, and he stops, quite surprised to see her here when he'd never told her about this place.

He doesn't call out to her though, not until she gets out of the car and starts walking over to him, her heels clicking on the asphalt.  "What are you doing here?" he inquires.

"Looking for you," she replies, her tone short but not rude. "After the arrangements, we're supposed to meet with John; he's going to meet us at the funeral home."

"I see..."

Lillian Slys looks rather off-put by his emotionless response, but she doesn't immediately try to break the speechlessness that overcomes them. "What are you doing here?" she finally asks, having had enough of the tense silence.

"My birth mother's buried here." He turns his gaze to the southernmost point of the graveyard, where he knows there'll be little black gravestone covered in leaves and dead vines, and he finds himself wanting to share her with someone again. "Do you want to meet her?"

While Lillian finds herself unsure, a part of herself, the part that is first and foremost Flug's mother knows that it would be rude to say no; she'd never get this chance again, of that, she's positive. "O-okay... If you're so sure." Flug holds out his hand, and Lillian after a moment's hesitation grabs ahold of it.

He leads her down a winding path of bricks that branches off several times, leading to other, more elaborate gravestones, but he never once sets down on a branching path, those are well worn by previous travelers. The one that he leads her down is in much better condition the farther they go down, until the only wear is from the creeping plants, and at last, Lillian sees the headstone and the name carved out in nondescript block letters. At the last name, she smiles a little ghost of a smile, because she now has a name, a name for her little boy and for the woman who gave him to her.

As they stand before Meredith's grave, Flug looks at Lillian from the corner of his eye, barely catching her twitch of a smile, and asks, "how did you know I'd be here?"

"Kayla told me that you liked to come here from time to time, and that if I couldn't find you, this would be a good place to look... She just never told me why."

"That doesn't surprise me..." Flug drops to his knees on the earth and reaches out to touch the black stone. "Mother... I know I haven't come by in a while, but I wanted you to meet someone." He gestures to Lillian. "This is the woman who raised me, Lillian Slys. She's really a nice lady, and I thought about introducing you before, but it never felt right... And I..." His eyes burn, forcing him to squeeze them shut to keep the tears from falling. "Kayla died, mother... She died, and I saw it happen..."

"I know you gave me up to protect me, but I really wish you could have stuck around... Maybe then... Maybe then we could have been a family, all of us and you could have really met Kayla and mom... I know that you would have liked them..."

He sits there in silence for a while, until his knees begin to ache and his spine begins to creak; its only then that Lillian looks at her watch and reaches out to touch her son's shoulder. "Flug," Lillian whispers, "it's time to go."

"Yeah..." he breathes, his voice turning raspy and harsh. "We should go..." With that, he quickly stands and dusts off his pants. "B-bye, mother..." He follows Lillian out of the cemetery and back to her car, not bothering to try and fight his way out of a lift.

As the car pulls away from the drive, Flug swears that he can see a tall, black figure with a top hat standing at his mother's grave.

 

* * *

 

"I, Kayla Slys, being of sound mind and body do hereby proclaim that the following shall be done upon my death, regardless of how my family feels about these requests. If something is not specified, it will be up to Flug to decide what he wants to do with it."

"Lillian Slys and my sisters will receive my jewelry apart from the locket purchased by Flug Slys upon my eighteenth birthday. Lillian Slys will also be allowed to make preparations for my wake; however, the funeral must be held the day after my body is released as I do not wish to be cremated, preserved or modified in any way. I also wish not be buried, so the funeral must be done immediately after visiting hours."

"I want Flug to have my body. He'll know what to do with it."

With the will read, Flug drops the paper onto the table but continues staring down at it, trying his best to avoid the looks being sent his way. He knows that its contents are shocking; he could barely believe it when she first had it written, and he remembers how much John, her lawyer had protested the stipulations about her not being embalmed. But Flug knows why, and he can't bear to look at his adoptive mother while he has that knowledge.

"She doesn't want to be buried?" Mr. Carlison inquires, intrigue coloring his voice. "That peculiar, but not unheard of."

"I... I'm a s-scientist," Flug stutters out, his hands gripping the chair arms so tightly that he swears that it'll break. "Kayla made me promise that I would use her b-body in an experiment, and then after that was done that I would dispose of her George Haigh style." He feels his cheeks flush hotter, no doubt in response to the eyes on him.

"And I'm sure it'll be weirder after you read her addendum." Startled by the familiar voice, Flug looks up to find John at the doorway with two papers in one hand and a briefcase in the other, the latter of which is mostly empty. "Long time, no see, Flug."

"H-hi, John."

"Mr. Arbinsworth," Mr. Smith greets. "How nice of you to join us. What's this about an addendum?"

"Kayla Slys had a second part to her will that she didn't tell Dr. Slys about. She said it was to stop him from trying to change her mind... not from the first part but from the latter part." Lillian makes a hurrying motion with her hands, and John nods, before setting down the briefcase and unfolding one of the two papers.

"I, Kayla Slys, being of sound mind and body, do amend my previous will with the following statements. My parents, Lillian and Richard Slys are to receive ten thousand dollars of my life insurance policy to pay back what remains of my student loans. Also, I wish to change what I want my brother, Dr. Flug Slys to do with my body after my death, and this information is to be included on another letter that is to be delivered in person by John J. Arbinsworth. This letter must be read only by Flug, and after he is finished, the letter is to be burned inside of a cigarette tray with a green disposable lighter. It has to be green because green is my favorite color."

Most of the people in attendance chuckle slightly at the abnormal ending, but Flug cannot find it in his heart to do so; the sense of foreboding brewing in his chest is simply too strong to do so.

"Are you seriously going to go through with whatever she asks of you?" John asks, his hand clenching tightly to the sealed letter in his grip.

"I have to," Flug replies, a bit of stubbornness leaking through. "She's my sister."

"Alright then..." John hands Flug the letter and opens his briefcase, fishing out a black cigarette tray and a disposable lighter.

With shaking hands, Flug opens the letter and starts to read, taking great care not to let the others see. 'Flug,' it reads. 'If you're reading this, then I'm dead, and obviously, you're not... So, you're going to eat me. And because you can be a little dense, I will repeat: YOU WILL EAT MY BODY. When you're done reading this letter, burn it with the lighter and tray that John provides... I love you, little brother... Now be careful. I won't be around to watch out for you anymore. Love, Kayla.'

The moment that he finishes, Flug folds up the paper into a tight little square and places it on the tray on the table, trying not to drop it or the lighter that John passes him. His hands shake even more violently than before as he sets the page aflame and watches as the incriminating words disappear into ashes and behind the veil of unshed tears.

"I need to go," he whispers, his voice breaking on the last syllable.

"Do you want me to drive you?" Lillian asks, but Flug shakes his head.

"I'll catch a cab."

Flug does just that and finds himself staring out of the window as the streets pass by quickly; they never once hit a red light. The moment that the car stops, he bursts from the cab, flinging money at the driver's face and runs up the stairs. Tears flow from his eyes like a torrential flood, obscuring his vision and nearly causing him to trip as he runs to his apartment and locks the door behind him.

Wishing that what he'd read had been a dream, that this had all been a nightmare, he opens Kayla's door and collapses on her bed, crying and clutching to her pillow...

He falls asleep in Kayla's room that night.


	6. Chapter 6

 

"Do you think that my mother really loved me?"

Wrenched out of her perplexing math homework by that ludicrous question, Kayla gives her brother a confused look. "I'd assume so," she replies, knowing that flat-out professing that she knew of her love would be ill advised because Flug doesn't like when people proclaim things without evidence; he says it undermines the essence of truth and scientific inquiry. "If she didn't love you, I’d really doubt that she’d have taken the time to write that note to us or even left you on our doorstep. She probably would have dumped you at an orphanage or in a dumpster.”

He hums and drops his head, presumably to go back to his own homework, the kind that their mother gives him to keep him intrigued long enough to stay out of her hair while she cleans. Kayla watches as he scratches out something on his ever-present clipboard and shakes his head; even for the budding genius, statics is hard.

It’s then, as she and her brother sit there in the living room quietly working, that she decides that she needs to find out who Flug’s birth mother is, if only to give the little genius closure.

 

* * *

 

It takes a while: three months, in fact, but Kayla does find Flug’s mother, Meredith.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she whispers as the bus pulls away from them, rumbling and bouncing down the road.

“To where?” Flug asks, his fingers tightening on his backpack’s straps until the material groans under his superior strength.

“Away,” she replies and starts towards their house. “I want to show you something.” She opens the door quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone that might be home, and slips her backpack off, stashing it in her own nook. “Backpack.” Flug reluctantly passes it over to her, and she stuffs it into his hole before backing out of the foyer and shutting the door behind them again.

It’s then that she looks down and sees his inquisitive face peering up at her through tangled, orange curls. His amber eyes are wide with curiosity, the kind of quiet curiosity that causes him to stare up at her with exhilarated innocence. She can tell that he wants to know, more than anything else, but he trusts her and he will not allow himself to say a word that would suggest otherwise.

“You’re a good kid,” she murmurs and takes up his hand into her own, squeezing his little fingers with as much force as she can bring herself to use; she doesn’t want to hurt him, but deep inside, she’s petrified that if she loosens her grip, he’ll slip away.

With a small nod to her brother, they start off down the street, opposite of where their bus had gone, and she leads him down the busy streets of their suburb and out into the city proper. She keeps her head high and her senses alert, simultaneously not wanting to draw attention to themselves but not wanting a passerby to see them as vulnerable… Just in case that passerby isn’t a friend.

And Flug, with his wispy little curls and wide eyes, oozes vulnerability, but Kayla knows better; Flug is far stronger than any of the creepers that might come after them.

 

* * *

 

As they walk down the side street that Flug would come to know quite well, Flug finally speaks up, having gone completely silent during their walk. “Why are we going to a cemetery?”

Kayla sighs and grips his hand tighter. “There’s someone who you should meet.”

“In a cemetery?” His tone is incredulous and nearly condescending, sounding off from such a small boy. “What kind of person hangs out in a cemetery?”

Kayla can’t help the bark of laughter that rips from her throat, but the amusement does nothing to quell the anxiety brewing in her chest. She doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want to face the sadness that she’s sure to cause… Her hand grips the metal gate and swings it open, nearly wincing at the high, whining screech it induces. “Well, she’s not hanging out, Flug… She’s always here.”

“Huh?”

She ushers the little monster into the graveyard, careful to shut it quietly behind them. “Follow me…” She leads the boy down the well-worn path until the end, and when the single gravestone comes into focus, she points to it. “Flug… I want you to meet your mother.”

Without a word, Flug runs past his sister, careful not to knock her to the ground, and he drops to the ground before the stone, staring at the name with horror and tearful gratefulness. “This is my mom...?”

“She died right after we got you,” Kayla murmurs and closes her eyes, not daring to take a step closer.

“How’d she die?” Flug asks and with a shuddering breath, runs his fingers over the chiseled stone.

Again, the girl lets out a quiet breath, hoping to calm her anxious heart; she wishes that that particular question had never been brought up. “She was murdered, Flug. And no one knows who did it.”

When the sound of heartbreaking sobs reaches her ears, the young woman finally walks up beside the monster and kneels beside him, and he, after a moment, falls into her side, allowing her to wrap her arms around him. They stay like that for an hour or better, not moving, not speaking… just crying and trying to pull themselves back together.


	7. Chapter 7

 

The loud shriek of the alarm clock across the room jolts Flug from his restless sleep, and as he opens his eyes, taking in the dimly lit area, he finds himself staring at the manual clock with contempt. Its endless shriek cleaves at his ears and bounces around his brain with tap shoes and golden pickaxes, simultaneously enraging and cowing the embattled creature.

Without thinking, he hefts a book from the nightstand, barely glancing over to note the name (Library of Souls), before he lobs it at the screeching golden clock and knocking it to the floor. A wicked crash erupts from the impact point, thankfully silencing the contraption once and for all. Barely a tick leaves the broken husk before it truly breathes its final breath and announces its finality with a barely audible crunch of broken cogs.

And it is only then, when the clock breathes its last breath, that Flug opens his eyes fully, but they are nearly blind to the swaths of color and softness. On autopilot, he heaves himself up from the bed, his mind too foggy and numb to remind him of where he is; he's exhausted, but perhaps... that is for the best.

He creeps out into the hallway, not of presence of mind to remember that there is no one left in the apartment to wake. From there, he wanders into the main room, his stomach growling and reminding him that he has not been good to his body in the past few days. And as he stands in that open space, a scent catches his attention, one of sulfur and a sweet note of blossoming flowers, but behind that is another, more sinister smell that simultaneously sickens his mind and grips his stomach with a furious hunger.

He pushes aside the sharp anxiety in his chest and inches ever closer to the kitchen where the smell is heaviest, saturating the air with tarnished sweetness.

His mouth waters, saliva pooling under his tongue and swamping his teeth even as he desperately swallows, again and again.

His eyes affix on a hunk of meat sitting in the very center of a white and black plate, the blood oozing from the flesh and dripping onto the china like the juice of a well-cooked roast.

Flug forces himself to look away, to take in the rest of the sight... to ensure that he's alone and that this isn't some kind of trick.

On the table is a little black note in that familiar, looping hand... Black Hat's been in his apartment again. Beside the note is the vase that had arrived right after Kayla's death, but the flowers inside have been replaced with a deep red, almost black rose and two flowers he doesn't recognize: one white and one purple.

With that out of the way, he glances at the message and reads through it carefully, but the sentences don't register at first. They sit around in the empty space between consciousness and animal until the hunger finally takes control. Suddenly, its words sear his mind and replay over and over again as he finds himself gripping the hunk of meat in his clawed fingertips and tearing into the flesh with ravenous speed. The taste explodes across his taste buds and whispers words of innocence and justice... and a violent end. It's then, as he's gulping down the victim's thigh, that he realizes what, or rather who he's eating; it's a hero...

'Take care of what you eat... And who you eat. Not everyone is palatable, and not everyone is obtainable. You've been eating scum for far too long, and your body knows it. Until you decide, I will feed you and teach you what a real meal is. Sincerely, BH."

When the flesh is gone and the hunger abates, its claws sheathing themselves for the moment, Flug finds himself staring down at the vase of flowers and the new arrangement within. Curious and confused, with just a touch of worry, he looks up the purple and white ones, quickly learning the meaning behind the striking bouquet: anemone, fading hope and a feeling of being forsaken; white heather, protection; and that single black rose, death...

The reality of just who he's eaten sticks in his heart and mind with dull needles of guilt, forcing Flug to remain inside for the rest of the day.

When morning dawns again, he finds yet another chunk of meat on his table with a crystal glass of blood beside it; he eats. Again, guilt pricks his insides but not as sharply as before...

But Flug doesn't leave his apartment for the rest of the week, choosing instead to hole himself up by the window, where the sunlight washes over his skin and makes the apartment’s multitude of colors glow... He doesn’t trust himself to behave if he crosses paths with anyone, and so he chooses to stare at the humans as they wander by, fulfilling the equations of their lives without fail. He doesn't trust himself to keep pretending, pretending to be a human, a wandering sheep just waiting for a wolf to come by and rip their flesh from their frightened forms.

He gets a call from his mother on Saturday. It's brief but it tells him everything he needs to know; Kayla's body has been released.

 

* * *

 

Sunday dawns with a dark, cold light that leeches the color from the apartment walls, but the cup of blood sitting on the table seems to be a richer red than before. On yet another white plate is a heart, spilling out blood as deep as garnets onto the gleaming china; Flug can practically taste its sweetness, the scent curling up happily in his chest and gnawing at his self-control… But there are much more interesting things to see.

In the flower vase is more white heather intermixed with thorn-less black roses and a single purple one; it is this purple one that steals his attention away from garnets in the tableware before him. The purple rose still bares its thorns, wickedly sharp protrusions that bare a black, oozing liquid; Flug can smell Black Hat’s blood on them, and it makes him feel light-headed.

Eventually, Flug pulls his attention away from the flowers, and after another brief moment of staring at the innocent flesh on his plate, he eats.

At noon, Lillian calls, and when Flug picks up, she informs him that she’ll be driving him to the funeral. He sighs but nonetheless concedes, and so, at one fifteen, Flug and Lillian pull up to the funeral parlor where Flug can see a man in a suit standing at the edge of the woods, just outside of the cemetery.

The figure tips his hat to Flug, and the scientist, in return, nods tactfully but follows his mother into the establishment, wondering when Black Hat will decide that this game of hide-and-seek has gone on long enough. He wonders when he’ll be forced to acknowledge what’s between them and when he’ll be forced to make a final choice.

At the doorway to the foyer is Mr. Carlison, all done up in his finest suit with a gentle smile plastered to his face. He opens the door for Flug and Lillian, offering his condolences once more and passing them off to Mr. Smith.

The genial old man offers his hand to Flug and then to Lillian when Flug does not take it; he doesn’t even look Smith in the face… No, he’s staring beyond, into that little room done up in bold, fresh cut flowers and plastered with pictures, many of them bearing just two faces: the siblings who were never apart.

The casket is shut, the body inside hidden from view, but Flug knows she’s in there.

Despite the thick cloud of incense and perfume that swamps the air, he can smell her scent and slightest tinge of blood, both hers and her killers’. To his relief, no chemicals mar her body; she is as she was when she died, but she is cold, no doubt kept on ice to suspend the decay as long as possible.

Somehow, his mouth waters, and the faintest thought of devouring her where she lies trickles into his brain. He ducks his head as his eyes shine with golden light, but then another scent reaches his nose, one that is so familiar…

He looks up and finally looks around to see flowers: some standard bouquets from a florist filled with daisies and daffodils and lilies, but around them, around her, are roses, black as the night sky, blacker than they should grow naturally and a wreath of white heather. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a shadow, one so very tall with a piercing eye, and Flug nods, a soft smile gracing his features.

And then the shadow, Black Hat seems to smile back before disappearing through the wall.

 

* * *

 

_“The just man, though he die early, shall be at rest. For the age that is honorable comes not with the passing of time, nor can it be measured in terms of years. Rather, understanding is the hoary crown for men, and an unsullied life, the attainment of old age. He who pleased God was loved…”_

The pastor’s voice rings out in the little hall that thrums with life and reverberates the murmurings of those before him. In the front pew are the Slys, all six of them with their heads bowed and their own disquieted whispers bouncing up from the laminate floor. Only Flug’s eyes are dry, but they are hollow, staring beyond the floor into the void of thoughtlessness, into death itself.

_“In these troubled times, when someone so young meets their end, we find ourselves wondering why. Why would God take someone with so much to live for and who has barely started their journey?”_

The words tumble around his ears and box his head until he can feel them cutting into his brain; Flug hates funerals. He hates the drivel that people spew, somehow expecting their words to mend the hurt left behind when they don’t understand anything.

_“We cannot understand the plans that God has for us… God had a plan for Kayla, and it is my belief that she fulfilled his plan.”_

Knowing what’s about to leave that man’s mouth, a part of Flug dies inside; he isn’t worth what that statement means… He isn’t worth the sacrifice, worth the effort expended by any decent being… If God is real, certainly letting a monster live wouldn’t be part of his plan, not at the expense of a shining woman like Kayla.

_“Kayla Slys died to save her younger brother, and so I can say with certainty that she was good. And so, we should not mourn the loss of her life but be grateful for the time that we knew this angel on Earth and remember that all angels must return to heaven one day…”_

It takes hours before the last of the visitors leave, and then, it’s just the Slys’ with their heads hung low and their eyes misty. But still, one by one, the children leave, until it’s just Lillian and Flug standing before Kayla’s coffin with a quiet, disconcerting tension clawing at their throats.

“How’re you going to take her home?” Lillian eventually asks.

“She isn’t coming home,” Flug replies, avoiding eye contact. “She’s going to my lab. I’ll call in a favor to get her there.”

“Are you- are you sure?”

“Yeah… You can go home, Mom.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, her expression a cross between worry and relief, but then she claps him on his shoulder and whispers, “you take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will...”

With that, she disappears into the parking lot, and Flug can hear the sound of her car starting up. Once he hears her pull away, he breathes a sigh of relief, until the scent of sulfur reaches his nose… He should have known that Black Hat wouldn’t wait much longer for an answer.

He huffs out a long drawn out sigh, catching the attention of the remaining director who’d been busy in the other end of the room, sorting out cards for who had sent flowers. “Flug?” Mr. Smith says, “are you alright?”

“Yeah… I’ll be back,” he says and slowly makes his way out into the parking lot.

It’s not quite dark, the sun only just beginning to set over the cemetery, but in the farthest corner, the shadows are long and the figure within them is blacker than night. “Hello, doctor…” The raspy, growling whisper carries across the lot as the sun catches the creature’s monocle, blocking out what little of his face Flug could see. “I was wondering if you had thought about my offer…”

“I have…” Flug replies and steps ever closer, despite the way his instincts shriek at him to bolt; this isn’t a conversation to be broadcast.

“Good…” Black Hat grins a vicious smile that Flug will come to know so well and offers up a single lavender rose, its meaning not lost on the inventor: 'I am enchanted by you.'

Flug has no delusions about that; Black Hat finds him interesting and nothing else. There is no romance to be held in that gesture, just as there is none in ones before...

Still, the offer remains, and Flug, finding himself at a loss once more, steals himself for a decision that cannot be made so lightly… one he’s been thinking about all week: to stay here in this listless space between human and monster, endlessly trapped in an expectation of humanity and to disappear, become a real monster, under the direction of someone so much viler…

He knows that he has to do something; he has to say something...

Now that Kayla's dead, he has nothing left...

Flug holds out his hand, his right, and takes the offered rose. The thorns bite at the skin of his fingers, threating to tear his flesh, but their teeth are much too weak to pierce his fingertips. Its scent is heady, so unlike the perfume on Kayla's pillows and clinging to his hair that it catches him off guard. It speaks of otherness and eternity and... finality.

Suddenly, the situation catches up with Flug's brain, and he realizes what he's committed himself to do; what he must do...

"When do I start?"


	8. Chapter 8

“I can’t believe my little brother’s a fucking doctor!” Kayla bemoans, pulling a high laugh out of Flug. “I mean seriously, you’re twenty-one and you’ve got three PhDs. That’s amazing, Flugbug.”

“Thanks,” he replies, trying to put on an affronted edge, but there’s a smugness in his grin; he’s so excited to have finally graduated, to finally show the world that Dr. Flug Slys is an important person. He wants to show the world, in his own way, that he’s just as important as any human being. “Now I can finally leave the morgue.”

“I didn’t realize you hated work so much,” she teases.

“I think it’s mostly the coworkers,” he replies, trying and failing to keep a straight face as Kayla makes a playfully affronted sound. “Except for this one girl, she’s alright.”

“Oh? And who is this girl? Is it Meagan?” Kayla’s grin grows exponentially when Flug fake gags at the mention of his annoying work rival. “Come on, Flugbug. She’s pretty cute, and I’m sure she’d like you more if you’d just smile at her.”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you, if I started bringing Meagan to family d-”

Flug’s cut off by the impact of a purple and electric blue body into the ground before them, the young man leaving a crater in the cement. Blood drips from a large gash on the side of his face, and Flug salivates… The smell is enticing, nearly hypnotic in its youth.

“Don’t,” Kayla whispers and reaches out for his arm, snapping the predator from his stare off. “We should get out of here.”

They never get a chance…

Flug barely notices the villain called Ice Caster: a wiry, Asian woman in white and blue spandex, as she powers up an ice blast and lobs it at the junior hero. He barely notices the way that the hero _runs away_ , leaving two civilians behind… No, his eyes are on Kayla, who sees the oncoming blast before he can… and pushes him out of the way.

Her body crumples to the ground; she isn’t as strong as the heroes; she can’t get back up…

Flug smells her blood.

Her head’s too far to the side…

Her neck’s broken…

Flug drops to his knees and crawls to her body, his fingers reaching out and feeling for a pulse.

There is none…

She’s dead.

“Oops.” Ice Caster’s reedy voice warbles out in the tiny alleyway as she powers up yet another blast. “Don’t take that so hard, dear. That really wasn’t for your friend there.”

Flug’s eyes flash golden as he turns his attention to the villain fully, a low, throaty growl leaving his throat; he stands up then and snaps out of vicious, “I figured as much… But it doesn’t change the fact of what you did…”

“I suppose not… but I can fix it.” When Flug quirks a brow in interest, she grins maliciously and throws a blast his way. “I can reunite you in death!”

Flug doesn’t move out of the way, torn between wanting to see if Ice Caster can truly hit him and wanting to get away just in case, and the blast collides with his chest… But nothing happens. He shivers slightly as the cold washes over his skin, but the powerful punch that had killed Kayla feels like nothing.

Taking only a second to marvel at his health and revel in the shock on Ice Caster’s face, Flug stalks forward, his pace even and steps measured, as he spies a loose chunk of asphalt. Before Ice Caster can run or the heroes go to stop him, Flug bolts to the chunk, faster than their eyes can see, and rips if from the ground before throwing it as hard as he can.

Ice Caster makes a choked sound and drops out of the sky as her ribs push into her body and his sternum cracks with a wet squelching sound. She tries to shuffle backwards through the pain, clearly terrified of the still-advancing monster, but she doesn’t get far before a hand wraps around her throat and squeezes, the cartilage and bones creaking and cracking in his grip.

“Stop!” Captain Colossus cries and reaches out as if to stop Flug, but he’s far too far away. “You shouldn’t do this.”

Flug narrows his golden eyes and grabs Ice Caster’s hair with his other hand. “Don’t tell me what to do.” He yanks as hard as he can, not stopping until her head tears off and bounces to the ground, spraying the area with blood.

“She was a human being!” The graying man takes a step closer to the creature, motioning for his fellows to remain powered up, and without a moment’s pause, Ice Caster’s minions fall in step with them. “She didn’t deserve that!”

“So was my sister! She didn’t deserve to die either!” Flug uncurls his fingers from the dead villain’s throat, allowing the decapitated body to fall to the floor. “She was an innocent… This is your fault,” Flug snarls, baring his teeth at the senior hero. “It’s your fault just as much as it was Ice Caster’s.”

With a loud scream, the hero who’d dodged out of the way leaps at Flug, fully intending on either arresting or killing the deranged doctor, but he never makes it far. He gurgles, mouth dropping open and body convulsing as he desperately gasps for air through the chunk torn from his throat.

“Pathetic,” Flug hisses, his mouth dripping with red. “I’ve never seen such sad excuses for heroes before.”

A part of Flug is horrified at what he’s done, but that part never makes an appearance on the outside, not even in his eyes that glow with fiendish delight. But that part is swallowed up by the overwhelming hunger that builds in his chest and overrides his thoughts.

The next few minutes become a whirlwind of blood, organs and instincts as he rips and shreds anyone who comes close enough to him; Flug is gone at that moment, replaced by a bestial rage that cannot be swept under the rug any longer.

He barely notices when he catches Colossus, but then he’s scratching at his skin and throwing the man around the alleyway, listening to every scream and cry as if it’s the sweetest music… His claws sink into Captain Colossus’ chest, tearing through the flesh and piercing the bones. Colossus grapples at his shoulders, trying to throw him off, but Flug merely spreads his hands apart. With a sickening crack, the hero’s chest opens up to Flug’s eyes, exposing his pounding heart; Flug sees it stop beating…

Suddenly, the spell is broken, and Flug drops the hero’s body, his expression filled with horror.

He takes a step back, only to stop when his heal squishes into something soft and slick: the intestines of the disemboweled minion behind him. He shakes and turns around and around, trying to make sense of the carnage around him. “I-I did this?” he whispers, voice colored in disbelief.

Then his eyes fall upon Kayla.

Flug drops to his knees beside her body, shaking as he crouches over her body. “Kayla…” Her skin is still warm to his touch, but not warm enough to continue the illusion of living. “I’m so sorry!” he wails and presses his hands against his face. “I didn’t mean to! I-I…” His claws catch on the skin, and with another whimpering whine, he tears into his own skin, leaving large gouges anywhere his claws can catch.

“It’s all my fault…”

Blood drips from his face, speckling her body and clothes. He falls silent, tears welling up in his eyes, and the few that escape sting his torn flesh. Still, he stays quiet, keeping vigil over Kayla’s body as he tries to sort out what he’s going to say and what he’s going to do…

Then he hears the voice: _“What are you, sweet creature?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
